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A woman must continually watch herself. She is almost continually accompanied by her own image of herself. Whilst she is walking across a room or whilst she is weeping at the death of her father, she can scarcely avoid envisaging herself walking or weeping. From earliest childhood she has been taught and persuaded to survey herself continually. And so she comes to consider the surveyor and the surveyed within her as the two constituent yet always distinct elements of her identity as a woman. She has to survey everything she is and everything she does because how she appears to men, is of crucial importance for what is normally thought of as the success of her life. Her own sense of being in herself is supplanted by a sense of being appreciated as herself by another.... One might simplify this by saying: men act and women appear. Men look at women. Women watch themselves being looked at. This determines not only most relations between men and women but also the relation of women to themselves. The surveyor of woman in herself is male: the surveyed female. Thus she turns herself into an object -- and most particularly an object of vision: a sight.

John Berger, Ways of Seeing

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SEIU ITO

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Misery is wasted on the miserable… You think spending time with her, kissing her, having fun with her, you think that’s what it was all about? That was love? THIS is love — missing her because she’s gone… wanting to die. You’re so lucky. You’re like a walking poem. Would you rather be some kind of a fantasy? Some kind of a Disney ride?! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT?! Don’t you see THIS is the good part — this is what you’ve been digging for all this time. Now you finally have it in your hand, this sweet nugget of love… sweet, sad love… and you want to throw it away. You’ve got it all wrong… The bad part is when you forget her, when you don’t care about her, when you don’t care about anything. The bad part is coming so enjoy the heartbreak while you can, for God’s sakes.

Dr. Bigelow to Louie C.K. S04E10

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Maurizio Cattelan, La Nona Ora, (1999). 

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Untitled (Black on Grey), 1970

by Mark Rotcko

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If If freckles were lovely, and day was night, And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie, Life would be delight,— But things couldn’t go right For in such a sad plight I wouldn’t be I. If earth was heaven and now was hence, And past was present, and false was true, There might be some sense But I’d be in suspense For on such a pretense You wouldn’t be you. If fear was plucky, and globes were square, And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee Things would seem fair,— Yet they’d all despair, For if here was there We wouldn’t be we.

E. E. Cummings

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  Gaál József (Hungary, 1960) - Figura penetra VIII 1997

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Ex Libris: Brigitte Rath by Czech artist Vladimír Suchánek (1994).

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Mauricio Lasansky’s Nazi Drawings

Mauricio Lasansky’s nightmariish drawings portray the horrors of Nazi Germany

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Bertil Nilsson

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“Sun-bleached bones were most wonderful against the blue - that blue that will always be there as it is now after all man's destruction is finished.”

 Georgia O'Keeffe

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Hypnose, 1904

Triumph der Finsternis (Triumph of the Darkness), 1896

Sascha Schneider

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Control yourself

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Christopher Ulrich

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Martín after Jacques Gamelin, A skeleton awakes to the last trump on Judgement Day, Wellcome Images, 1778-79

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                       The Weeknd - Initiation              

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Премълчи я, после я изплюй

гледай как се стича по лицето му

размажи я, забрави я

после наругай.

Подир дълго помълчи

огледай смяхнатия свят

изяж го, после го сдъвчи

и щом горчилката преглътеш

във гърлото ти храчка нова се надига

в чие лице да се изплюеш тук се пита.